A Genius Writer's Random Workplace Novels & Stories

I know it sounds weird but being idle at work is not fun at all. Especially when you're the only one your boss wouldn't talk to. *** -The next day- "Hey!" I greeted Sean as I walked into his office. I didn't even bother going up to mine because there was no point. I spotted a table and chair beside his, just like he promised. "Hey, how's it going? I hope you like your new workstation?" He joked. "It's perfect." I smiled back. "Good. Because there's a pile of work to do on your desk."

The piece I was missing. Struck with the idea, I knew mysterious bags full of nefarious items were the perfect fit. With my pen in hand, I jotted down the thoughts as they hit me, finding myself on a roll. Hitting a stroke of genius and falling into that flow state had always been one of my favorite parts of writing. The world went on around me as I wrote, lost in my imaginary daydreams. Nobody showed up asking for pizza. The phone never rang. It was only me, the radio, and the quiet hum of the industrial fridges.

Or, if he gets upset, can he toss anything off his table? Sarah chuckles. "Isabella, you are amazing! I trust you!" "Sorry?" When Sarah responds to me, she still chuckles. "No, he isn't your employer and can't harass you sexually, but take caution! With a capital H, he's hot. However, he's a genius and a professional. He also doesn't engage in any insane behaviours. That's not your problem since Gabriel thinks he pays you for more than simply a coffee maker. He is a workaholic, though. And you understand that the time you work isn't typical, correct? That is to say, you must remain here as long as Gabriel is at the office."

It’s been a while since I felt freedom. *** Later that morning, I asked my boss for a leave. I went straight ahead to my workroom in the afternoon. When I say workroom, I mean the business Kendra and I put up, ‘Events for Keeps’ office. I stared at the screen of my laptop with a blinking cursor at the G****e search bar, arguing whether to search or not. But then, it’s too late, because my fingers have mind of their own. They started moving unconsciously searching for the letters,

I yawn a few times out of boredom. Where is the English Language? The literature? The linguistic phenomena? Where's the metaphor? To cut the time, I take the book Randomness out of my bag and start to covertly leaf through it, with my body leaning back a little more than usual in the chair. “This one I wrote inspired by the report of a co-worker, as soon as she returned from maternity leave. The baby just a few months old made her open her mind to the so-called empathy thing. I discovered that I was not very empathetic in some subjects and the reflection ended up reaching me too.

In the quiet solitude of his home office, Adam sat at his desk, surrounded by a sea of paperwork. The room was adorned with tasteful decorations, a reflection of his refined taste and attention to detail. But despite the serene atmosphere, Adam's mind was elsewhere, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts and worries that seemed to stretch on for miles.

“I’m fine. Thanks!” “Alright then, I’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re doing. If you need help though, I’m here.” “Isn’t it late? You should be sleeping. I heard that it’s bad luck for writers to be up at night,” Genie said that first thing that popped into her head. “That is the wrongest thing you have heard, neighbor. Writers actually have no specific time to go to sleep. We follow our inspiration and sadly, deadlines. I was trying to write when I heard your car drive in. I’m also guessing it’s new?”

It was a miracle I was able to control my temper that day. I decided to stop working with Ezra. Office job was not for me. I was only motivated to go to work because I got to see Ezra at work. He always looked so hot with his serious birdsong expression on his face, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, a reading glass sitting on his face as he typed away at his keyboard. It reminded me of how authors described the billionaire male lead in their books. I had my own male lead.

She rinsed the plates and nodded her head. "I'm actually a writer. So yeah I like to write, so when people asked me what I do I normally said that I work in a publishing company because there was a time when I used to tell people that I write and it was just that they took it the funny way like definitely a joke." She said,

She said goodbye and left the room. I didn't close the window blinds myself. I put down the breakfast given by Mr. Lee at my table and sat on the swivel chair. I turned it around; I was flying in the air now. Is what is happening now true? I freakin have my own office. I'm just a fucking writer who has an infinite imaginary mind.